


Arms Out, Eyes Closed

by Hambone



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Gen, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, self-deprication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 14:44:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2815901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sentinel retreats for some dreaded alone time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arms Out, Eyes Closed

**Author's Note:**

> Another request from Tumblr!

Sentinel closed the door, locked it, double locked it, triple locked it, and sat on the berth. He wanted to sigh, but when he opened his vents all that came out was a wave of steam, filling the room quickly and making him light headed with relief. It wasn’t quite enough, though, and he ground his heels into the floor as he opened his interface panel, decidedly not looking.

It was disgusting. Not his body, or his parts, but the urges that made him dissolve to stammering in front of his trainees not once but four times today. Stupid, annoying programming that _should_ have been blocked out by the newer patches invented by Perceptor some ten millennia ago, but hadn’t been. A defect, really. Sentinel was not oblivious to the fact that he could probably procure some of the coding needed to repress it now, but he would never shame himself like that to another member of the Guard, and there was no way in the bowels of Unicron himself that Sentinel would expose himself to a medic of any lesser standing.

So, here he was. He knew he was leaking, but he tried not to let himself enjoy how his valve swelled in the cool air, or how he shuddered as his fingers reluctantly played down to rest mid-thigh. He didn’t want to do this, he told himself. It was gross. His fingers tapped against his plating, itching to touch.

“Uhg.”

He ran two fingers up the width of his cut, lips curling upwards into a sneer as copious amounts of lubricant trailed after, sticky and brightly pearlescent in the low light. He could smell it too, acid sweet. Groaning in a way he hoped was clearly upset and not arousal, Sentinel pushed a finger inside, then another quickly after, a third jabbing uncoordinatly at his external node. It probably wouldn’t have felt good under normal conditions, but as it was he jumped and hissed, overly sensitive. He was so wet it was almost unbearable, the steady crawl of heat licking up his wires inside until he felt like he was burning.

Awful, awful biology. When he was Magnus he would have it dealt with, certainly, and find some way to shut the people up about it so no one would know he’d spend the first thousand stellar cycles of his life doing this. With an audible gasp, he scissored his fingers inside of himself, shuddering hard and groaning again as he felt the slickness move around him. Primus, he was filthy. Pumping his fingers faster, Sentinel clenched the berth side with his other hand, wishing he could be palming his spike instead. The cover remained resolutely closed, however, valve taking up all the presence in his sensory net.

Oh, but that was good. After a day of hiding inside his plating, this, this felt amazing. His internal nodes were big and clung to his digits, calipers flexing as he finally got that third finger inside. He pushed in to the knuckle, rippling, and moaned so loudly he worried, for a fraction of a nano-klik, that he might have been heard. How mortifying that would be, for someone in the Guard to know, now. To have them tell others. Just imagining the look on Optimus’s face if he ever learned the truth, that stupidly innocent grin twisting with superiority - that moment was quickly interrupted as he buckled down over his knees, panting hard, as the first overload of the evening slammed into him with the force of the Magnus Hammer and equally unexpected.

This time there was nothing to stifle, a soft, breathless ‘ _Oh!_ ’ all that made it past his lips as the force of his heated ecstasy shut him up tight, valve clenching like a vice. It took a couple of kliks for him to recover, as recovered as one could be when their valve was still pulsing with charge around half their hand, optics wide with confusion and upset. He flopped back on the berth, already working himself absently, and threw the other palm over his face, sighing a long-suffering note as charge skittered across his chest.

_“Great.”_


End file.
